Gild
by Katherine-E-Kora
Summary: Ten years in our future, the world is a much different place. A place where war comes in unexpented ways and transcends all that we believe to be truth. In the middle of what my be the New York's biggest robbery, America must find the courage to uncover these truths and who exactly hides them. Some enemys are not nescaserally the ones you'd believe. NO YAOI. Intense violence later.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello hello hello! **

**You Hetalia fanfictioners probably don't know meh… but that's okey dokey with me.**

**So, I finally wrote my first Hetalia Fanfic! Yay! I'm really excited about this one you guys. It's gonna be long, and the beginning is a little bit boring, but bear with me! It gats exciting, trust me! I have the whole freaking thing planned out already. **

**So, here goes nothin'.**

**Also, here's a song I listened to that I think fits this chapter best: You can listen to it while reading if you like.**

_Dylan Patrick Smith_

_Winter in Lindley park_

…**..**

**Gild – To give an often deceptively attractive or improved appearance to. To adorn unnecessarily something already beautiful. To make superfluous additions to what is already complete.**

… **Archaic: **_To smear with blood_

He spun the gun around in his fingers and deftly replaced it back in his pocket. Up this high, the air was frigid and cold, just like the winter that would soon come. It tasted of gasoline and human pollution. Still, it was nice.

America had been watching this skyline for as long as he could remember; from his very first moments as a country, to the ones right now. Everything about it had changed, the skyline was tall and bulky, the cars were strangely silent, and more people took the magnet trains than ever before. They ran underground in tunnels, quiet and out of sight. It was a peaceful calm and tranquil time. He looked curiously around himself. The horizon curved around him, the buildings lapped at the clouds and jutted into the sky, three standing above the rest. New York's finest, one might say.

To his left was the hero building; nobody really knew why it had been named that, it just had been. He himself was atop one of the taller ones, the rook apartment and living complex. People below just called it the RILC. You could live here without ever leaving.

Then, perhaps the most important of the tall ones, was the bank. 400 floors of vaults and offices, high-tech security systems and lots of money. His boss usually hung around the basement levels, near to where the substation hooked up with the public vault room.

There was an abrupt ringing that disturbed Al's thoughts. It stepped up and down in little electronic beats. He deftly pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, holding the receiver up to his ear.

"Yo." America greeted, "What's up?"

"Iceland is coming over today. Meet him by the north-gate substation and talk business with him until you two get to the bank."

"So basically just talk to ice-dude. Got it."

"Be serious." The caller hung up. It was probably some lackey of his boss'. America sighed, took one last look at the horizon, and walked back down the steps that led off the rooftop.

…

Iceland stood stiffly among the bustling citizens of New York, listening closely to each new accent he heard. The one to his right was from Queens, the one to his left from Brooklyn. The one in front of him was from…New Jersey.

A few gave him odd looks. He easily ignored them; while in Alfred Jones' company, one must always pay attention to Alfred. If you got distracted and didn't listen to what he was saying, he could get angry. Or, for instance, if you didn't look at him every other second, he might leave you behind and get run over by the bullet train. Oh, well; it wasn't like it was worth worrying over.

"So, dude, while you're in New York, I'm gonna take you to all the best restaurants. We do have the best food from all over the world here after all! You'll love the pizza!"

"Pizza is Italian."

"Naw, bro. It's totally American."

"Ok then."

Iceland sighed as the train pulled up, already emptied, and opened its sleek metallic doors. America stepped on first, then Ice trotted silently on behind. They sat in the very back, in the farthest possible seat. Al pulled a manila envelope from his leather jacket and placed it on the white table that shook slightly underneath them. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out the contents and spread them out.

"Let's get down to business." He offered in a new voice. This was no-fool-America. He could be quite serious when need be. "How many planes does your military need?"

"As many as our money can buy us." Ice grimaced, "Those filthy Danes…I thought we were friends…"

"Happens to the best of us." America shrugged, "So, when we arrive at the bank's substation we'll check up on your finances. Sound good?"

"Sure."

For the rest of the long train ride, broken up by short pauses in-between stations where more passengers came and went, America questioned Iceland fervently, while Ice simply nodded or shook his head in reply. The world went by quickly out the window, giving new meaning and appearance to everything. At one point, an image of a dancing rabbit stayed in the window and twirled a cane happily. Ice jumped to his feet just as it left and searched it out again. America laughed.

"It was just graffiti," He chuckled, "Some people make it so that their pictures move with the train. Sort of like cartoons without sound. Cool, ain't it?"

"Yeah. People don't do things like that in my country." Ice replied. For the rest of the train ride, Ice watched out the window for any more images. America shook his head in disbelief, then remembered that technically Ice was only fifteen. There were still a lot of things he hadn't seen yet.

They arrived soon after at their stop and exited the train in the same fashion that they had entered in. This station was a lot busier than their last stop. People crowded everywhere, pushed and shoved against all sides and screamed profanity at each other when they nudged. Ice held onto America's sleeve, embarrassed that he must do so, but determined not to get lost. In the end, the latter would be much more embarrassing.

Weaving through the crowd, America led them to the top deck, as it was called. There were no steps, just a ramp that led up to an elevated platform, overlooking the whole station. There were three distinct grooves cut into the silvery sheen of the floor; two were the civilian tracks, heading in and out of the station endlessly. The last train tunnel was the high-priority track, meant only for emergencies and VIPs. Along the edges of the expansive room, two additional tracks ran the room's length. They were shallower and contained little ridges and lookouts and ledges, with a pointy-looking fence gating them in. Inside, dogs and their masters paced. They kept security 24/7. It was a tough job, but one that had to be done.

Finally, as Iceland turned around, the vaults became visible; huge, metal things that stretched all the way up to the ceiling. Little hovering elevators could take you to yours. Too bad they weren't here for that; the elevators looked really fun.

"Amazed, aren't you?" America smiled, "Pretty cool, huh?"

"They're so big."

"Mmhm."

"America, Iceland!" A voice from behind gruffly greeted. It was a warm, yet authoritative voice; comforting, yet frightening. The kind of voice God might have. "Found you, finally!"

"Hey boss!" America waved.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice." Iceland said to the man, a short, stout thing with perpetually greying hair. "I would've called sooner had I the warning myself."

"So," The man started, "You wanted to buy some planes off of us?"

"Yessir."

"Drop the formality, will ya?" Al's boss joked, "We're not in the military, son. War's gotten to your head."

"Sorry, sir."

His boss sighed. "What am I gonna do with you foreigners?" Then he half-turned and received the packet from America, flipping through the contents brusquely and frowning. "Well, anyway, it'll take us a few weeks to process this. Why don't you kick back here for a while and enjoy some free time? You look like you could use it."

"With all due respect sir," Ice said flatly, "this is my country we're talking about here. We need those planes before we're overrun…"

"…And planes you'll get!" America gripped Iceland's shoulder. Ice uncomfortably met his stare and re-adjusted his too-big bow tie. "But first, you need to chillax."

"…Whatever." Ice shrugged him off. "Let's hurry this up though. I wanna go home."

"Haha!" America laughed, pulling Ice back to the trains, "This is great, you'll be here for thanksgiving and everything!"

Iceland kept his mouth shut obediently. It wouldn't be that bad, he told himself, it wouldn't be that bad.

…

**So, what did you think? Leave your opinions in the comments section, pls. ILUVYOURCOMMENTOMGGGGG. Ok…so…**

**Yeah. This is Gild. Pay attention to everything, because it all comes back to bite yo ass later. Thanks for reading! See ya next time!**

**BYE!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey again! Boy, I sure did update fast…at least for me that is. I'm proud of myself.**

**Additional characters are introduced, and the first major plot point occurs! **

**On an added note, I wrote this at school…so much for homework. Ah well.**

**Enjoy!**

_**Recommended song:**_

_**Rain**_

_**By: Brian Crain**_

…

**Gild**

**Chapter Two**

Thanksgiving came all too quickly.

For some reason, every year, America celebrated this holiday where everyone would give thanks for silly things, like shoelaces and hamburgers. No one else did this. Even so, Alfred made a huge deal about it, and most showed up anyway.

Spain was the first to arrive. He would never be one to skip out on a party; and of course, Romano had to come with him.

Next came Britain and Poland. Both Al and Ice had no idea why the latter even showed: he was weird. Nobody liked Poland, especially when he brought his prissy attitude with him. Britain, at least, tried to be refined. He had manners. Although, Iceland tried to avoid him as much as he possibly could. Ever since the World Wars, they haven't been on exactly friendly terms.

Russia and Belarus showed as well. Russia just because he could and he loved to bother Alfred…Belarus on the other hand…well, people tried to stay away from her. They both gave off a creepy aura, but it came to a consensus that hers was much worse.

Lastly, Canada and Kumajirou. Nobody really noticed when they walked in. Nobody but Ice. He enjoyed Mathew's company; since they were very much the same, and Canada didn't feel he had to make small talk or anything to pass the time. Silence was one thing that had been hard to come by at America's place, and a companion that didn't say much was a nice change of company.

Al switched on the flat screen TV that hung on the glass wall over-looking the rest of the city. It flickered to life and gleamed in bright colors, boasting about how expensive it was. The late-night news broadcast had just started up, backed by an electronic backbeat and tacky intro graphics. Before anyone could object, America crashed onto the couch next to Ice and Mathew, switching through channels rapidly. He stopped at 62.

"Cool, dude!" He shouted, "Ghost Adventures is totally on tonight!"

"Is that the show that fakes paranormal activity so they can be on TV?" Canada quietly asked, drawing his legs up to his chest and clutching his polar bear tightly.

"Naw." Al answered, "It's legit. Ghosts are totally real. If the TV says so, it's true."

"Oh…"

Iceland fidgeted uncomfortably. He hated these stupid ghost shows. Every time he saw one, he always thought of his older brother, Norway. He could almost feel his eyes burning holes into him now. Plus, there was an old folk legend in his country that you could be possessed by these types of things.

"Why don't we watch the news?" Ice suggested, "I think that's much more reliable than Travel Channel."

"Fine. After this episode. I think it's a new one."

England walked in behind them with a cup of tea and leaned up against the back of the sofa. "I find you quite distasteful, America." He commented, "Why don't we watch BBC?"

"What's that?"

"…nothing." Arthur sighed, "Really…I thought I raised you better than this."

"You've only yourself to blame." Belarus added in her gravely, terrifying voice. She didn't say anything else, but laughed wildly at the scared camera crew as the show went on.

"You should totally come over to my place for the festival of the dead!" Spain offered excitedly, "There are ghosts everywhere!"

"No way man!" America answered warily.

"My house has the best ghosts!"

"Russia, dude, like totally shut up!" Poland accused.

"Big brother is mine!"

"SHUT UP." Iceland screamed, "I have a terrible headache!"

"Exactly." England sighed.

"I'm leaving," Ice announced, standing up, "I'll be in the spare bedroom."

Iceland marched to the spare room and slammed shut the door. Huffing an angry sigh, he sat on the bed and turned on the smaller, older TV on the bookshelf. He started to flip through a book he had brought along from his country: Nordic Legends. It smelled vaguely of home, the pages torn and familiar, wrinkled yet still holding the same luster that they had been given upon its purchase. Just as he reached his favorite story, the one about Fenrir the wolf god and the Ragnorak, a screeching, rumbling noise shook the air. He gently placed the book on the bed and threw the curtains open angrily.

It was just a plane.

The sides were sleek and shimmering white, so that it blended in almost perfectly with the near-constant cloud cover. The windshield was a pale blue, and tinted so that the pilot was unseen. There was a large, open, rectangular space, away from the cockpit, where a gunner stayed watch over the city below. It wasn't a very large plane. Perhaps it could hold four people. Yet, there was something menacing about the way it slid through the air, as if stalking prey. It looked sturdy, yet agile. Shaking his head, Iceland drew the curtains, shrouding the room in darkness momentarily.

Then, he silently switched on the bedside lamp, continuing to read with the news in the background, without ever even giving a passing thought about the quiet savage that lurked in the air and roared at his window…

…**.**

**Alright, so as you can probably infer, the action is gonna start next chapter, which will probably be released sometime soon if I stay on top of things like I have been. This chapter was a little uneventful, I know, but we have to add a little suspense in there! Hehe…so, tell me what you think in the reviews section!**

**PS- thank you for all of you who decided to follow the story! It makes me very happeh to see that people are interested from the get-go! Thanks! **


	3. Chapter 3

**YAY! FAST KATHERINE IS FAST!**

**Ok, so the action starts nao. You like action, yesh? Yesh, yesh you do.**

**The LEGIT action doesn't start until chapter five, but that comes very soon, so hush hush now and read this if you want to live. You know, it's dangerous to go alone…*insert over-used memes here***

**Song of the day:**

**The Lion and the Wolf**

**By: Thrice**

…

**GILD **

**CHAPTER THREE**

_Thunk_

_Thunk_

_Thunk_

A series of heavy bass thuds boomed, waking America from a fitful slumber. Another one sounded and shook loose a picture frame. It shattered as it hit the floor. Red and Orange shimmered behind the blinds and dimly illuminated the room.

"What the-" He stood up and switched on the lights, flinging open drawers in search of his glasses. America slid them onto the bridge of his nose. The world became clearer in front of him, and violently he was thrown to the floor as another shudder wracked the building.

"What's going on here?" He muttered to himself. Silently getting to his feet, America stomped and blundered over to the window. Al threw open the blinds and they clattered to the side. The bedroom lit up like a light bulb.

Across the sky, a flame roared in the horizon.

Alfred ran out of the room and switched on lights as he went, first going to the kitchen, then to the dining room, and finally the living room where he turned on the TV. It was still on the travel channel, where info-mercials played non-stop until the sun rose well until the horizon. He changed the channel to three, a news broadcast, before sitting down on the couch with the remote still clasped in shaking hands.

"-Northern New York, a fire rages along the borderlines. The cause is unknown at the moment, but most speculate that it was indeed intentional. Many eyewitnesses, who managed to escape the burning city in time, say that they saw a mysterious plane the night before." The news cast cut to an image of a blurry plane, "Right now, this is the only evidence we have."

"So we could be looking at something that goes far beyond a terrorist attack?" An older male questioned. The woman reporter made a gesture and smiled on queue.

"Perhaps so. However, until we get more information on this, here's phil with the weather-"

There was more to the broadcast, but America paid no attention; no point in it really.

"Hey…What's going on?" A tired voice yawned from the rocking chair, "America, is that you? What are you doing up, what time is it?"

"Yeah, I don't know."

"I heard a noise." The voice, with its yawn now passing, continued. It was England. "Sounds like World War Two out there."

"I think someone's dropping bombs on the city…ow…" America pressed the palm of his hand against a temple.

"America!" England exclaimed, "Are you OK?!"

"Just a headache." Al answered quietly, "I know how Iceland feels now…It must suck having a whole war over there…all the time…"

"Haha." Iggy mocked, "So now world wars don't actually constitute as wars? I told you-nothing compares to having it on your own borders."

"Shut it."

A deep, brassy rumble echoed in the distance. It had a different sound than the roar of the fire; it was more like the thuds before. There was also a series of rapid pops; it sounded like the firing of a chain-gun. A sharp stabbing sensation ran through America's heart. Only a moment later, Iceland rushed in, furious. His hair was wild from sleep, or lack thereof.

"Turn the TV down, for goodness' sakes!" He angrily said in his thick accent, "Now is no time for the war movies!"

"That…wasn't us." England responded, confused. More chain-gun fire sounded, closer and more distinct this time, as if it were slicing through the floor below. The electricity shivered and went out, along with a few misplaced objects and cracked glass.

"_Dios mio_!" Somebody shouted, most likely Spain, "What's happening?"

"It wasn't me!" Russia insisted.

"Waaa!" Poland cried, "Why is it so dark in here! I'm like, totally scared of the dark!"

"Hold on…" England pointed out, "Where in the bloody hell is Belarus?"

"AUGH!"

"There she is!"

America got to his feet and located the breaker box, flipping each switch experimentally. Nothing.

"Can you fix it?" England asked; apparently, he had made his way over, "Do you need any help?"

"They're all broken." Al replied, "We need completely new breakers…but, I doubt they'd work even then." The gunfire outside seemed to agree with him.

"What do we do now?" Iggy murmured.

"We wait." America answered quickly, "Whoever's doing this has to want something, I'm sure. Until then, everybody should stay here, safe."

Ten days passed, and no demands were given.

…**..**

**Did you like?! Tell me pls! Review!**

**That is…if you want to…**

**Anyway, thanks again for subscribing and favoriting and all that jazz~ I luv you guys! Next chapter should be done soon! Thank you all so much! Also, Future chapters will be longer, just a for-warning.**


	4. Chapter 4

**TOOK LONG ENOUGH.**

**For such a simple chapter, it really took a while to get back into the groove of things. Please RandR. Love you all! Thanks for being patient!**

…

GILD

CHAPTER FOUR

On the eleventh day, somebody finally came forward; good thing too, because rations were running dangerously low. The waterlines had been torn out on one of the first few days so that the faucets became unusable. Nobody dared venture outside for food either; there were men in black-padded suits everywhere, scrounging around and taking aim at any living thing that moved. Not only that, but the electricity that so drove the city before had been completely shut off.

Alfred realized something with a jolt…the sky. It suddenly seemed all the stranger…that, on this particular day…it just so happened to be blue.

Everyone was standing at the cracked windows as the announcement began, starting off with a little burst of feedback.

"Citizens of New York," A gruff voice echoed through the bank's mega-speakers. Since the first fire, planes sleek as snakes had been docking on its landing bays. "And, all of you people without lives of your own to live, tuning in on the TV, broadcasted through the many news helicopters circling the city…As you can probably tell, this city is under our control now. This is the moment in time when I'll idolize myself by asking for some ridiculous some of money, which most people don't even realize exist, let alone how to write it down…But, I have something else I want."

Alfred held his breath and pressed his palm up against the cracked pane so that the bank building was partially obscured. Anything…anything they wanted…they could have it. As long as nobody else died…as long as everybody was _safe._

"I want silence. Give me peace."

What?

"Nobody enters the bank, or the whole city goes five-hundred feet in the air." The man expanded, "I'm not after your money, it's something hidden that I want. Someone hidden. When I find them, I'll leave. Until then, everything stays the same." There was a pause, "Oh yeah, and all of you are going to die unless we find it by this time next week. I'm sure your president knows what's going on. Ask him to save you." With another static burst, the transmission was cut off.

God Damnit.

"What's going on America?" England asked, puzzled, "What do they want?"

"I have no idea…" Alfred answered, "But…I'm not just going to stand here and wait to die."

"Of course you're not." England smiled knowingly, "I never expected you to. You're going to rush in there, and play Hero, aren't you? Playing God isn't for the faint of heart, Alfred. Think about this…"

"Perhaps I'm not playing God. Maybe I'm playing with Him." Al deftly stated. England furrowed his thick eyebrows and frowned.

"Someone's gotta stay and keep an eye things." He said. Poland overheard and piped up.

"I'll be glad to stay behind if you're going in there!" He quipped, "No way am I going to get shooted at!"

"I'll stay behind as well." England offered, "Lord knows what help Poland will be alone. This apartment will be our base of operations: Poland and I will keep watch from out here and see of anything shifty is going on."

Iceland shivered and rubbed his temple bit. America wondered if the war was getting worse or better in his country. "Didn't you guys hear that?" He complained, "If we go in there, that guy will blow up the city. I don't doubt that he's already got something rigged under us right now. That's probably why all the streets are ripped up."

"No way would he risk destroying what he wants though…" Canada spoke up quietly. America acknowledged him with a nod.

"Exactly."

"We're going to get people killed!" Spain cried.

"It's worth the risk." England said, "Ten quid says that those wankers blow the city when they're done anyway."

"And my boss isn't going to do anything about this…" America wanted to explain more, but stopped. He didn't want to look weak in front of the other countries. Truth was, his boss hadn't exactly been helpful lately.

"Well, I guess our minds are set?" Russia asked cheerfully. Belarus growled in disdain, although America pretty much knew by now that it could be translated as either a 'yes' or a 'no'. He nodded.

"Poland, England, I have some Walkie Talkies. We'll keep in touch that way." He announced, "The rest of you, we'll need guns. I've got an armory."

"but…Ah…" Canada tried to object, but nobody listened, per usual. Iceland followed the others as they tailed America down one of the hallways they hadn't noticed before. He dragged Canada along with him.

The hall lead into a smaller hallway, which eventually led to a large metal door with a code-lock on it. Alfred punched in a four-digit combination and the door allowed everyone to pass with a creak. Inside, the room was vast and painfully white, lined with too many weapons to count. Some were big, some were small, but all were deadly.

"Take something. Let's hurry, I want to be off as soon as possible." Al announced, hefting himself up onto a shelf and sliding a few cartridges for his pistol into his many pockets. The other countries were quick to catch on; Russia smiled wickedly and tried on an Ak-47, while Bela added to her knife collection. Spain and Romano decided on matching SMGs. Iceland stared around a while, trying to let this all settle in, before noticing a rather uncomfortable looking Canada trailing after him, followed slowly by Kuma-san.

"Something wrong?" Iceland asked curiously. He picked up Kumajirou, much to the small bear's protests, and set him on his shoulders. Ice swayed with this new weight.

"I've never really used a gun before…" Canada admitted, "I don't know where to start…"

"It's ok." Iceland tried to balance himself correctly as he spoke, "It's not that hard. You'll learn fast. Try something smaller first, like a Glock. It's got quite a kick, but I don't think anything less than that will do."

"What does a Glock look like?"

"…" Instead of attempting to explain it, Iceland lead Canada to weapon and gave him a few pointers before wandering off to find something of his own, still with kuma holding fast to his shoulders. In the end, Ice went with a small firearm similar to the one he had back home; a small, silver number with the kick of Chuck Norris. America saw that everyone was ready and jumped off of the shelf.

"Let's go."


	5. Chapter 5

GILD

CHAPTER FIVE

The group made their way quickly enough through the empty halls of the RILC building and down to the lobby; nobody even passed them as they descended the many flights of stairs. In his pocket, America felt the walky-talky buzz in alarm. He pulled it out and held it to his ear, switching to channel one.

"You got some chaps on the right of the bank, looks like they're making rounds for assigned guard duty. Should be easy enough to slip past them though." England's voice came through the metallic speaker. America screwed up his face as the thing got all staticy; he could only just make out Poland shouting something in thew background.

"Uh..." Al muttered uneasily, "Could you translate that, please?"

On the other end, England gave a sigh of exasperation and replied: "There are some very bad men walking in circles around the bank. Make sure they don't see you."

"Alright!" America laughed in response, "Over and out, captain caterpillar brows!"

"Don't call me that."

America returned the communication device to his back pocket and put on his serious face. He, in turn, filled the empty spot in his hands with his trusty pistol. Deftly, Alfred leaned up against the wall and peered out at the devastated lobby area; it looked to be all clear.

"Is it safe?" Canada's quiet voice said from the line beside America, all staying flat against the wall.

"Yeah. Let's go ahead." America frowned and ran out from cover, readying his trigger finger. But nothing came his way. Slowly, the other countries in his party filed into the lobby.

The place used to be glittering and silver, painted in flat and chrome colors, beautifully coordinated by some unknown artist. As Alfred looked around the circular space, nearly running into the wrap-around counter that used to check guests in, he couldn't help but feel a pang of loss. It had been completely sacked, destroyed, ruined. Its glory was so far off, not even the original designer could've seen it now. The lack-luster, brown rubbish and fallen rust had covered it all. Somewhere outside the door, an ambulance's siren went off. The noise didn't travel anywhere; it got no farther off, nor any closer. But, it did cut off with an abrupt crash.

"Wow." Russia, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere, said aloud, "This place looks worse than my house."

"That's saying something." Belarus snarled.

"..." America didn't say anything. Instead, he shook his head and joined his brother Canada by the front doors; they were made of glass—or at least, there used to be glass in them—so one could see right out. Beyond their barriers, the world was decrepit and red-tinged. The sky was now filled with the smoke from fire-bombs. There was no wind to carry it out of the city anymore.

"It sure is scary out there, eh?" Canada stammered over his words nervously, surprised at the fact that Alfred had even bothered to give him company at all.

"Yeah, I guess it is." Al replied absentmindedly. He was trying to imagine what it had looked like before this moment; before the hideousness it donned now.

They were plunged into an awkward silence, heavier than most, until Spain broke in and threw his arms around both of them.

"Man, oh man, this looks like the back-streets of Brazil!" He commented happily, "Reminds me of home..."

"That's in Mexico..." Canada softly, uncomfortably, mentioned.

"Oh, who cares, it's still technically my territory." Spain waved off, "We won it in the fourth invasion of the gulf, remember?"

Actually, America found with confusion that he hadn't remembered entirely. Maybe it was because he had been so focused on his own well-being of late. But, now that Spain mentioned it, he recalled that five years ago Spain _had _gone on some imperialistic tangent.

"Who are you?" interrupted another voice. This time, it was Kuma, still grappling onto Iceland's head and shoulders, making walking quite difficult for the already ill country. Stumbling, Ice made his way over to the rest of the group by the exit, or entrance of the building. For their purposes, it would be an exit.

"Are we going to be getting out of this place soon?" He asked, "It's stuffy as Hekla."

"I don't know what that is." Alfred shrugged, giving the room around him one last glance, "But, yeah, I suppose it's time to go. Hold on, let me talk to England to see where the guard is."

"Hekla is a volcano." Iceland explained. But his words were lost in a buzz of static as America switched on the Walky.

"Yo, English dude." He announced his presence; it lacked the usual verve and wide grin or a familiar America.

"America." England replied through the speakers. The whole room could hear him. The sounds in the desolate place bounced shakily off the broken-down walls. "What is it?"

"Can you tell me where those guards are? We're going in."

"Oh, okay." A minute later, England's voice re-appeared in the air, "They're not anywhere I can see them at the moment. I think you're good to go. Anything else?"

"Nope."

"Alright. Call in if you need anything."

"Got it."

With that, he flipped the off-switch on the little, hand-held radio and slid it back in his pocket. Alfred returned to the group with a certain vengeance in his blue eyes.

"Come on, let's get out of here." He told the other countries, striding calmly past them and the rubble, fitting out the broken doors with their jagged glass, taking the leader's position. "There's nothing to see here anyway."


End file.
